The Touch of Death
by I Am SomeoneI Am No One
Summary: Why must he look at him like that? Death's poison continues to lace through his veins, and soon it would destroy him; but he couldn't tell him. Not Gabriel. Not the man he loved. Hank/Gabe


It was over. The threat should have been over... he must have gotten it while he was swapping patients in the middle of the outbreak of Death. That was only two days ago, after all...

It would certaintly explain why he was now crouching in an empty hallway, coughing into one of his hands and grasping at his chest, pain radiating from a couple of pinpoint spots... why he could taste blood in his mouth, why his organs were literally rotting, dying inside of him, why-

The ortheopedic surgeon pulls his hand away from his face... the dark skin is smeared with crimson liquid, deadly poison... quickly clenching his fist. He wasn't going to last much longer like this... and no one suspected a thing. To them, he was perfectly normal, the same smiling man, always ready to help at a moment's notice...

Was it that he couldn't bear the thought of worrying them to death? Was this why he hid the touch of Death from everybody? Tomoe, Maria, Gabriel-

Gabriel.

That man...

Pushing himself up, he staggers back to the operation room he stopped next to when his attack first started, the room perfectly sterilized and empty, peaceful and quiet... but not for long. He's back on his knees again, coughing violently, blood, more blood, pooling from his mouth, staining the pale blue tile flooring... spreading across the smooth surface. At first, he thinks it's over after the coughing quiets down... but then, there's a familiar rip inside of his body, then, the feeling of something exploding within... another fresh spurt of blood leaving his lips.

Another colony just burst... releasing Death's poison.

More would be exploring right behind it. He was right; he barely had any time left... he'd give himself, what, three days, if he was extremely lucky? But Fate wouldn't have it, he knew it; he'd most likely be dead by tomorrow evening. He had to get-

Footsteps. There's footsteps in the hallway... accompanied with a voice.

Gabriel's voice.

No... no, it couldn't be! He was supposed to have left by now, why was he-

There was no time; he had to hide the evidence. Hide this blood, hide the pain he was in... Quickly, he looks around, finding a sterile towel sitting on the counter. Grabbing it, he makes use of it, quickly mopping up the blood on the floor, cleaning his hands, and disposing of the thing in the unsterile blanket disposal bin. He's in the clear- no, wait! His lips are still stained with blood, he'll surely notice! Lifting his white doctor's coat sleeve (-he was smart, the cloth would stain-), he clears the blood on the blue cloth underneath, hiding the stained shirt sleeve with his coat sleeve-

And just in time too... the doors open up, and the diagnostician of Resurgam First Care steps inside, trademark lit cigarette on his lips, that playful grin accompanying it... the irresistable smile of Gabriel Cunningham.

The man he was so deeply, so desperately in love with...

Ochre eyes meet brown, that smile (-why, why must he smile like that, especially at a time like this-) on the man's lips only growing bigger, hands coming out of the coat pockets they were stuffed in. "Well, hey there, big guy! Just checking things over in the , eh?" He shakes his head, coming even closer to him (-not noticing how the much larger man almost flinches away from him, as if frightened-), head tipping up to better meet his eyes. "You always are up and about, even late at night, here at this joint... I'd normally be crashed out on my couch by now." His words are followed by a chuckle, and a shake of his head.

Say something.

Say something, and whatever you do, don't let him notice your mouth is still bloodstained...! How could you miss that dab of blood? "I see... well, I just wanted to make sure everything here was alright, that the were properly sterilized, y'know... the normal stuff." He raises his hand to his mouth, like a normal wipe of the lips, but, it's really to get the last of the blood of his lips, quickly rubbing his fingers against his palm to get rid of the sticky liquid. "What are you doing up so late, though?"

The diagnostician tips his head and gives a nice, long exhale over in the opposite direction, a small line of smoke leaving his mouth from his cigarette. "Eh, Esha bitched me around and told me to check on the Rosalia wing and make sure all the patients were alright... and all of them were. Bruises have started disappearing... the antiserum Maria and Naomi made worked like a charm." He grins back up at the other man as he takes his cigarette out of his mouth for a moment, taking another step over to the table to lean up against it. "Naomi's recovering quite nicely from that little sin against nature, by the way... she and her new kid should be out of here by tomorrow."

He allows a smile to grace his lips; that was good news. "That's fantastic... so, Naomi adopted Alyssa?"

"Yep. Signed the papers and everything, right from her bedside. She really wanted that kid..." The light on the end of the cigarette has died out, smoke fading away... the man flicking it into the nearby disposable bin. The man can't help but make a mental comparison to him and the thing... soon to die out.

Was this ache in his chest from Rosalia's touch, or from looking at the diagnostican, knowing that he was going to die?

Die without ever telling him anything about-

Suddenly, his shoulders tense. The taste of iron returning to his mouth, the pain returning... no, no, he couldn't have another attack! Not in front of him...! Swallowing back as much blood as he can, he quickly makes a move for the door, even as the other man calls out, "Hey, Hank! You okay there?"

Of course he's not okay. But he lifts his head to smile up at him anyways, to ease his worries, to make that concerned look disappear right off his face... "I-I'm alright, Gabriel... I just remembered I have to give a patient some extra antiserum, and it's about time for his next dosage." His grip on the doorknob increases, his hand shaking, both from his overwhelming want to leave the room, and from the pain in his chest, which is starting to grow so much more in magnitude...

Much to his hopes, the diagnostician relaxes considerably... even smiling again at him as he places a new cigarette in his mouth. "Well, alright... get that done, Hank! And go home after that... you look like utter hell. Get some rest." He smiles even more, though it's not playful anymore; it's soft, soft and kind, the kind of smile that made the man just melt on the inside... "You did a good job handling the Rosalia Virus, big guy... I'm proud of you."

That's it. He can't stay in there anymore; the attack is not waiting for anyone anymore, and a new ache has entered his chest, like his heart's being ripped to shreds... murmuring a 'thank you' in return, the door is open. Actually, more like it's ripped off its own hinges; the man running down the hallway, into a new empty room, which, with a quick glance, tells him it's the medicine room... it'll do. Slamming the door behind him and hands desperately scrabbling to lock it, the coughing returns... the man reduced to a curled up position on the floor as the attack continues, a haze filling his vision...

He's not sure how long he's been on the ground by the time the attack ends... probably ten minutes, maybe fifteen. His body aches, and his head feels heavy... hands moving to push himself off the ground, even though his body is quite insistant on staying on the ground. He checks himself over, looking to see if the evidence of Death is on him... and is it ever. His normally perfectly white doctor's coat is stained red with his blood, so much he knows he can't possibly hide it... and looking down at his chest tells him another thing.

The Rosalia bruise has spread... angry black claws crawling across his chest in a slow, deadly dance. Quickly, he buttons up the dark blue shirt as much as his heavily muscled chest will allow... but it's enough to hide the bruise. Good. The coat has to go, though... eventually just chunking the ruined thing into the disposal slot. Whatever goes in there is incinerated every three hours, and the hospital was about to quiet down for the night; no one would find it.

His brown eyes scan the room quietly, looking for what he was originally going to come here for... eventually finding it, neatly lined up in a couple of rows in its own little cabinet. Corked vials filled with pink antiserum resting inside, waiting to be used...

Rosalia antiserum... it's just what he needs.

Taking two of the bottles, he reaches inside a drawer and pulls out a case, tucking them and a couple of syringes inside, zipping it up. He had to hurry up... if the attacks were coming at the rate they were at the moment, the next one would be soon. Stumbling through the hospital and out of it, he passes through the asclapia garden he so carefully looked after, the flowers he cared for, brushing through the blossoms... eventually making it back to his car.

It takes him a moment to get it started; his hands have started to shake yet again from the Virus lurking in his body, another attack looming... but, he dodges a bullet, and the attack is held off for a little while longer. The roads he take are mostly empty, allowing him to speed down them at a rate that would have him arrested on the highway, allowing him to get back to his home in a matter of minutes. He doesn't bother with lights... he can see well enough in the dark.

Slumping down onto the ground next to the sofa, he leans himself against it, panting for breath... his lung was starting to fail from the infection, from the Virus slowly killing it. Colonies are going to start exploding soon, and more would just follow... he knew he was going to die if nothing was done.

Half of him just tells him to stop fighting. To just die, ignore the antiserum, his cure, sitting right next to him... you can't run away from Death forever, Naomi once told him. The principle applied right now...

His eyes go over to the picture sitting nearby... it's of him and his dearest friend, back in the day they both served in the Army... both smiling at the camera as if nothing was wrong, that they weren't currently serving in a war-ridden country halfway across the world from America...

He's still alive. John is dead, sniped right in front of him... the poor man barely had enough time to turn around and warn him before the bullet burst through his chest. He didn't die though... not right away. Begging for death, John had asked for him to end him... and he did. Mercifully killing his best friend, just so he wouldn't have to die slowly and painfully there in the middle of the street, in the middle of a warzone... the memory still made him reel. It still gave him horrible nightmares at night, the kind that would make him wake at night from his own voice, screaming after delivering the fatal bullet...

But he still remembered the good things. John always would smile at him when he was down, reach over, and pat him on the shoulder, and tell him, "You can't quit now, Hank... we're going to go home heroes! Me and you... so don't be sad anymore. Everything will be okay! You just gotta keep fighting... out there on the battlefield, and inside your own psyche.

I have a family waiting for me at home... and I know that you have family to return to as well. And, one of these days, I know it, you're going to have a situation where you either give up and die... or you fight and live. And I know it, Hank, you'll live. Because you'll have somebody waiting for you." And then he would smile again, hug him, and they'd get right back to their stations as the war continued around them.

John fought until the very end for the people he loved, and only asked for death because he knew he couldn't be saved... and he was right. He did have somebody... To die now would be the easy way out, to die would be ruining John's memory. What's more, it'd hurt his friends something awful...

It'd hurt the man he loved more than anything. And, by God, he wasn't about to do that...!

The attack is upon him now... and even though he can barely operate, barely move as it is, his hands still move for the case he brought home with him, taking a vial and syringe out. He knew he couldn't be operated on; it was too late for that.

He'd have to wait out the attacks, and time himself to inject antiserum after the colonies burst... if he's lucky, he'll live through the attacks. If not... he'll die.

But he won't give up. He won't give up...!

He loves Gabriel too much for that...

Ripping the cork out of the vial, he shakily shoves the syringe needle in, drawing out a full dosage... ripping his shirt open, pulling so hard it tears all of the buttons right off. Not that it matters; steeling himself through the pain, and trying to ignore the blood starting to flow from his nose and eyes, he jabs the needle into his chest. It doesn't go quite in at first, so, he forces it into the muscles, right into the bruise... pushing down on the plunger and releasing the medicine into his body.

The pain dies, only in the slightest... but it's something. Now, to stay awake... if he falls asleep, the Virus will overtake him. Just focus on nothing but staying awake, and treating the Virus, one colony at a time...

The hours slightly tick by, every second feeling like an eternity... his mind is in a complete haze from the pain, from the exhaustion slowly starting to take him over. But, he forces himself to stay awake, waiting, timing himself for the moment to inject the medicine into the bruise after he feels a colony brust... there's a couple of occasions, terrifying moments where multiple colonies would burst and the bruise would just explode... he nearly passed out on all of those times, nearly gave into Death's cold embrace...

But he reminded himself of the man he still needed to go to after all of this was over... when he was ready to tell him everything. He fought against the darkness and injected himself multiple times, eventually ridding himself of the Virus's attack... waiting for the next one to come.

It's dawn by the time the pain fades away entirely... the bruise nothing more than a slight black scar. The first vial he had been using is empty, the second one half used... two of the syringes shattered from so much use. He's covered in sweat, still bleeding a little from the leftover wounds from the colonies in his lung exploding, not to mention soaked in blood, and utterly exhausted...

He lived, though. He beat the odds... and he made it.

And now, that blackness he had been fighting for so long is oh so very temp-

The day passes into sunset. Back at Resurgam, the diagnostician looks at the clock... six thirty, it reads. A frown creases his lips, fingers reaching up and disposing of the cigarette on his lips... the man getting up and annoucing to the Chief that he's taking a break, much to the woman's displeasure. When he's sure no one's looking, he makes for the exit, leaving and hopping onto the nearest bus.

Hank Freebird was not the man to skip work... and even if he did because he was sick, he would call and made sure everyone knew it. No one had heard from the man all day long, and even CR-S01, who had returned for another operation, was confused when he was informed that the orthopedic surgeon had not shown up. This... this was reason for concern. This wasn't Hank. This wasn't him at all...

The man gets off the bus as it comes to it's fifth stop, bracing himself for a long walk. The bus would only go farther and farther away from where the man lived... and he wasn't waiting for the one that'd take him there. Hurrying his way down the sidewalks, not bothering to use any manners at all when he brushes into people, he keeps going and going until he reaches the man's address... knocking on the door and calling out that he was there.

Nothing.

The pounding grows more frantic as a feeling of panic rises within the man, eventually giving into yelling through the door... and still nothing. Finally, he tries the doorknob... and it gives easily. That's another reason for concern right there... the man rushes inside, eyes scanning the room... catching sight of something in the living room. The diagnostician goes farther in, panic now gripping at his very heart-

He's unable to keep himself from crying out the man's name as soon as he sees that it's him on the ground, curled up and not moving at all. Covered in so much blood...

The first thing his mind, reeling in horror and panic, tells him is that he's dead. That he's dead and oh god he's dead right there in front of him, covered in that terrible red liquid and that mark-

...That marking. The man rushes forward, getting on his knees besides the man, hands carefully moving forward... barely gracing the hot, slightly feverish skin of his chest, touching the mark... there's no mistake... it's the reminant of a Rosalia bruise. And, looking down at where he's crouched, he sees more; an empty Rosalia antiserum vial, another half used one, broken syringes, and all this blood on the ground-

That idiot! That moron had the Rosalia Virus...! And he didn't tell... He didn't tell and now he's dead! He's dead-

Wait. Logic kicks in and gives him the tell-tale signs that the man is definately not dead; his skin is still hot. Now that he looks more carefully, his chest is still moving, and he's not really stiff... the man is still alive.

And, of course, logic tells him that he could be infected. He was exposed to poison blood, to the very thing that killed hundreds, if not thousands of people, across the United States of America...

Did he give a flying shit? No, he did not.

Instead, he revels in the fact that the man he loved was still alive, and not counted among the victims of the Virus... shoulders slumping as he lets his emotions get the better of him. Not bothering to lift up his sleeve and wipe away at the liquid now dripping down his cheeks in pure and utter relief, not noticing anything at all...

That is, until, the man in front of him stirs... eyes blinking to the sunset light. The man attempting to sit up, still feeling very hazy from the effects of the Virus, body screaming in reply to his movements...

For a moment, he thinks he's still dreaming... there's no way that Gabriel could be in front of him, crying-

Gabriel.

Gabriel..!

He's not the first to react, much to his surprise. In fact, it's the man in front of him, the diagnostician lunging forward and wrapping his arms around his neck, fingers gripping tightly at his back, blue cloth smeared with sweat and blood, digging in as if he was never going to let go again-

And then, he's promptly shoved back, and then, there's a fist nicely driven into his jaw. It's a nice knock back into reality.

The diagnostican is now back on his feet, trembling fists at his sides, tears still running down his cheeks... ochre eyes staring right into him as the ortheopedic surgeon slowly gets to his feet as well, staggering a little from the effects of the night before, a hand coming up to touch the now red imprint on his jawline. "...I probably deserved that."

"Damn fucking right you did! What the hell were you thinking, hiding all this shit from us? From me? I'm your friend, dammit!" The man makes a desperate motion towards the vials and syringes, to the blood soaked into the ground... "You hid this from all of us and tried to deal with it on your own... you have any idea how much you worried all of us when you didn't show up to work today? Even the kid was concerned when he heard you didn't show!" The rant continues, the tears still flowing quite freely down his cheeks, ochre eyes staring right into brown ones, his entire body starting to shake now... "And then I come over here to find you passed out on the ground with all this shit surrounding you, with you covered in blood- I thought you were dead, you motherfucker! I thought you were dead-"

He's silenced by the sudden hug he's enveloped in, strong arms suddenly holding him to the man's chest... the throbbing of the man's heart under his fingertips. Evidence that he was alive... he was truly alive...

Evidence that this all wasn't just a dream.

"...I'm sorry, Gabriel..." The orthopedic surgeon's voice is oddly quiet, probably from the emotions boiling over within, and from the effects of the Virus... "I-I just didn't want you... didn't want anybody... to worry about it. But, even then... that's no excuse.

I'm sorry... please, forgive me... forgive me for frightening you so much..."

There's a couple of moments of silence... before the diagnostician gently pushes himself off of his chest a little, but doesn't break away from the embrace... "You idiot... I've said it once, and I'll say it again; your big, soft heart will be the death of you. And it almost was this time." There's an odd tone to the man's voice, but he can't quite pick out what it is... it's not anger, though, he does know that... "...don't ever scare me like this again, you hear me? Promise me that. Otherwise you'll get more than just a punch to the jaw... I'll drag your ass back from wherever you end up after death and kill you myself."

The dark skinned man allows himself to smile a little past the tears starting to streak down his cheeks... "Alright, Gabriel... I promise." 


End file.
